


The Warmth She Sought

by Lunari



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: AU, Angst, F/F, Pharmercy, pharamedic, rocket angel, soulmate, sweet times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-05-03 06:46:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14563320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunari/pseuds/Lunari
Summary: From the moment she turned eighteen, Angela wished for warmth, for an end to the cold, to find her soulmate.





	The Warmth She Sought

**Author's Note:**

> My take on the soulmate trope, hopefully it’s not too confusing. Upon reaching eighteen, your body goes cold until you meet your soulmate. From that moment on, every touch feels like ice, until you’re touched by your soulmate.

Angela’s first love had been a neighbor boy. Her home was a quaint house in a tiny town on the outskirts of Zurich and the dashing blond Gian was everything to her. His jokes always had her in stitches, his smile lit up the room, his shy handholding left her with a raging blush.

When his eighteenth birthday arrived, they celebrated as he felt the cold shiver embrace his body, both eager for the moment that Angela herself would reach eighteen in three years, confident that they were destined for each other.

It was a year later when she received the call. Gian had been hit by an out of control car as he crossed the street. He was gone.

She left her small town at sixteen, intent on finding answers, hopeful for a cure. She enrolled in advanced classes at a Zurich university and poured every ounce of her being into the medical courses.

Her eighteenth birthday had come with little fanfare and when the icy chill rocketed down her spine, her body feeling frozen and numb, she had mourned. She mourned for the loss of Gian, her childhood love. She’d cried for the lost future, lost hopes and dreams they’d shared.

She wept, already desperately missing the feeling of warmth.

 

-

 

Though her original push to study medicine was from her desire to unlock the secrets surrounding the mysterious soulmate epidemic, she never thought it would end in the development of career changing technology. Sure, her goal was to figure out a way to remove  the cold that permeated those affected until the one destined for them reached eighteen themselves, but it was a small girl that changed everything.

She was just finishing up her residency when a case came in. A young girl had been transferred to her hospital, cancer unseen in someone her age spreading rapidly through her body. The lead oncologist had been baffled. The girl’s file was inches thick; reports of tests, treatments and surgeries detailed varying degrees of failure.   
  
Angela had passed the girl’s room, heard the father reading from a children’s book at her bedside as the mother stood hunched against the hallway wall, muffling her cries and wails into a scrunched tissue. She had stopped and placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder and instantly she crumpled into Angela’s arms, clinging desperately to her lab coat, smearing the pristine white fabric with tears and remnants of days-old makeup.

“Please,” she had begged. “There has to be something.”

That _something_ had ended up being Angela’s life long work: her research into the full body freeze that affected those with younger soulmates. The same nanotechnology she’d developed in hopes of kickstarting cell growth had been the answer.

From that moment on, from the moment she was able to stand next to the lead oncologist and deliver the good news, her focus had shifted.

 

-

 

When she was twenty one, she was contacted by a government agency proclaiming their desire to obtain not only her technology, but her as well, promising the title of Head of Research and Medicine. She was reluctant to take the position, if only because it pulled her away from her relief mission in war-torn nations.

The final offer of unlimited research funding and a world-wide reach had been the tipping point. She accepted the offer and was soon moving back to Zurich, to join the ranks of the bright eyed and hopeful Overwatch.

 

-

 

Her first introduction into the organization had been the intimidating presence of Ana Amari. The woman, though short in stature, commanded the attention of everyone as she entered a room, even the Strike Commander himself. She was stalwart, righteous and, though Angela would never admit it to the older woman’s face, a comforting presence.

Ana brought a sense of home to the white and chrome Watchpoint. She was always at Angela’s office door with a mug of coffee and a cup of tea, determined to share a break with the overworked blonde. Their conversations would drift from the doctor’s research to the state of affairs on the field, from Angela’s small hometown to the loss of Ana’s husband. After a few conversations, Ana revealed something that had shocked Angela. At the moment of Sam’s death, she never felt cold.

Angela was intrigued, leaning forward in her seat, eager for more details before Ana simply laughed and waved off the blonde. Ana and Sam were a marriage of necessity, she had said. After a summer fling, she’d become pregnant and Sam had immediately proposed, both knowing and understanding that there was someone else for them.

When Angela had asked if she’d found her soulmate, the older woman had swiftly changed the topic and deflected any further questioning on the subject.

 

-

 

It was a year later that Angela had first met Ana’s daughter. The older woman had nearly dragged Angela from the blonde’s office and to the helipad. They stood atop the west tower, Angela fighting the wind as it swept her hair into her face annoyingly. Ana had bounced at her side, giddy and excited to see the girl she’d been away from since the founding of Overwatch, nearly two years prior.

“The video chats didn’t do you justice,” Ana had claimed as she wrapped the girl up in her arms, already nearly dwarfed by the seventeen year old. The girl had mumbled something back to her mother in Arabic and the woman laughed, giving her a playful slap on the shoulder. With a huge grin, she had turned and introduced her daughter to Angela.  
  
“Doctor, this is my daughter, Fareeha.”

 

-

 

Angela would have had to have been blind to miss the way Fareeha had eyed her, watching her subtly from across the cafeteria, faking injuries to have excuses to get an appointment, making the silliest puns and one-liners the blonde had ever had the pleasure, and at times displeasure, of hearing. Fareeha’s shy smile was a near carbon copy of late Gian’s and once Angela had made that connection, she had hid in her office until the young Egyptian had flown back to her aunt’s.

Her life had been numb, quaked by tremors of cold. She had focused on a cure, if not for herself then so another young person wouldn’t have to live with this curse. She had kept Gian in her thoughts every day, but as the years wore on she slowly forgot the sound of his voice, the smell of his shirt. But after seeing that crooked smile, the shy huff of breath that masked a hint of embarrassment, she remembered.

And for the first time since she was fifteen, she broke.

 

-

 

“If you don’t show up for Fareeha, at least come so you get out of this office.” Ana had said as she tried to convince Angela to join the Overwatch family for a party. Angela had no idea what could be so important that a party was deemed a priority over her research and she had told Ana just that. Ana laughed and tugged Angela from her seat, pushing her toward the door with a playfulness the second-in-command rarely showed.

As Angela was guided through the doors to the common area, she had taken in the streamers and the hand-doodled banner proudly proclaiming “Happy 18th!” Angela felt the dread swirl in her stomach.

She wasn’t ready to relive the excitement. She wasn’t ready to hear the enthusiastic chatter as people wagered if Fareeha’s soulmate would be older or younger. Angela’s thoughts had drifted to the party thrown in Gian’s honor, to the ecstatic glee when he felt the eerie chill. His joyous eyes filled her memory, when he had clasped her hands, spinning her around with the promise of a happy future.

Angela had stopped by the main table to wish Fareeha a happy birthday before curling up in a distant armchair with a cup of punch.

If anyone had noticed the blonde’s detachment, no one made to comment. Instead, the group had crowded around Fareeha, their shouts echoing off the walls as they counted down to her birth time.

“Five!”  
  
Angela had pulled her feet onto the seat of the chair, her arms wrapped around her knees.

“Four!”  
  
She tucked her face into her thighs, taking a steadying breath to stave off the sobs she felt threatening to break free.

“Three!”

Her hand had clenched the cup, the rattle of thin plastic drowned out by the excited crowd.

“Two!”

She had choked out a sob, the memories flooding her mind.

“One!”

Angela gasped as warmth flooded her body before dispersing, the cold sinking back into her bones.

“Okay, that’s a bit cold,” Fareeha had complained as she shivered, hoping humor would mask her discomfort.  
  
“You’ll warm up once you find them, habibti.” Ana had explained, Fareeha nearly hissing in shock as her mother gave her a calming pat to the shoulder, frigid fingertips grazing her neck.

It was then that Angela had darted from the room.

 

-

 

Angela hid. She buried herself in her work, her research. She spent her days pouring over the designs to her Valkyrie Swift Response suit. Ana’s calls for a chat and her bribes of steaming coffee fell on deaf ears.

Any time her thoughts drifted to the party, she buried herself deeper into her work. She wasn’t ready. She wasn’t ready to admit that there was someone else for her, that Gian hadn’t been _hers._

Fareeha left a few days after her birthday which had made coping with the realization a bit easier. Ana’s insistence that she leave her office made it hard.

It was after a nearly whispered plea, a tear filled “Please Angela, I can’t lose you, too” that Angela finally let Ana in to the frigid office.

Ana sat cross legged on the chaise lounge that doubled as a bed when Angela didn’t have the energy or desire to move to her room. She cried into a handkerchief, laying bare her broken heart. Fareeha had left after her birthday not with the excitement of discovering her soulmate somewhere in the world, but with words of anger and resentment.

She had enlisted in the Egyptian army against her mother’s wishes.

The news shook Angela, shadows of despair clouding her mind.

 

-

 

Though Angela still grieved Gian, she slowly began to realize her sadness wasn’t only for the loss of her childhood love, but the hope for a life full of companionship that was erased by a drunk driver. As the weeks turned to months, the comforting words of reassurance she whispered to Ana over spiked tea began to worm their way into Angela’s heart. Her grief had begun to ebb as she ruminated over the words with a logical mind. If she truly mourned Gian as her love, then shouldn’t she honor him by living her life the best she could? If it was the promise of a full life that she grieved, surely she’d achieved greatness with her research, shouldn’t that be enough?  
  
As the days passed, she grew stronger, resolved to move on.

 

-

 

Her twenty-fourth birthday brought with it a homemade cake from, surprisingly, Reinhardt. She made all the required coos of praise as he revealed the pristinely iced confection. She smiled as Ana cut her the first slice, placing it before her with a one-armed hug and a kiss to the top of her head.

She thanked her way through gifts and birthday cards until finally the party was over and she made her way through the gathered Overwatch members toward the exit. A hand clutching her sleeve stopped her. Ana stood with a small frown on her face though the exact emotion was lost on Angela. The older woman simply held out a card addressed to the doctor and once Angela had taken the envelope, Ana turned and left, all without a word.

Angela watched as the second-in-command slipped from the room before slowly turning her gaze to the envelope in her hand. Various stickers and stamps declaring different customs checkpoints nearly covered the return address: a mail office for the Egyptian army.

Her heart leapt to her throat as her fingers clenched the stiff paper. She turned and nearly sprinted to her office.

Once inside, she sat at her desk and pulled open the top drawer, hastily storing the letter inside. She pushed the drawer closed without a second thought.

She wasn’t ready.

 

-

 

Another letter had arrived on her next birthday. This one was shoved into the drawer as well, though its corners were a bit more bent and the glue holding it shut was nearly pulled free.

 

-

 

A third letter arrived mere days before the mission report came in declaring Ana’s death in combat.

Angela fled from the briefing room, tears threatening to fall as she tried to accept that Ana, the woman who was like a second mother to her, who was a beacon of love and support, who was her saving grace in the slowly crumbling Overwatch, was gone.

She collapsed into her office chair, tear filled eyes landing on the stamped and stickered envelope still resting next to her keyboard, this letter never quite making it to the drawer.

“Oh gods, Fareeha…” She breathed, trembling fingers brushing over the rough paper. If only to distract herself from her pain, Angela tore open the envelope, greedily reading the words of well wishes, hopes and, shockingly enough, plans to leave the army. She absently reached out and pulled open her drawer, retrieving the two other letters and those too were quickly read.

The second contained a wish for a happy birthday and a funny story about a training accident.

The first was an apology. Fareeha saw Angela leave the night of the party. She’d known about Angela’s past, if only briefly, from her mother and hoped that she hadn’t brought about any bad memories. She hoped Angela would forgive her for asking her mother to ensure the blonde attended.

Angela clutched the letters to her chest, curling forward against her knees. She mourned for the second time in her life. This time at the loss of a mother, a confidant, a friend. She wept for Fareeha, who would have to learn of her mother’s death by satellite video, from a stoic and emotionless Strike Commander.

 

-

 

Of all the places for a reunion, a funeral was never on Angela’s list.

The blonde stood in a black pea coat toward the back of the small service, tear filled eyes locked on the shiny white casket. Folded over the top of the casket lay the Egyptian flag, placed just above the thick metal Overwatch emblem cast onto the fiberglass. Her gloved hands clenched at her side as she tried to focus on the sounds of mourning around her instead of reality.

“She’s not even in there and yet I doubt I’ll be able to watch them low-” The words from behind her shoulder cut off with a wet gasp as Fareeha breathed through a sob.

Without removing her eyes from the imam as he said his final words, Angela wound her arm around Fareeha’s waist and pulled her in for a hug. A strong arm draped over her shoulder and tugged her closer.

They stood together, nearly hiding at the back of the gathered crowd, for the rest of the service. Fareeha’s keening wail brought Angela back to the moment. She glanced from the six men stood around the casket as they began to lower it into the ground, to Fareeha who stood trembling, fearful eyes locked on the scene.

“Fareeha.” Angela called, tugging at her waist and when the Egyptian made no motion that she’d heard the blonde, Angela moved to stand in front of her. She had to reach up on her tiptoes to even come close to eye level with the soldier but the motion brought brown eyes to blue. “Let’s go somewhere quiet.”

The offer nearly brought a dark laugh to Fareeha’s lips. What was more quiet than a graveyard? But she saw the request for what is was: an escape route. With a final glance to the plot, the casket no longer visible over the mounded dirt, Fareeha nodded. “Okay.”

 

-

 

Angela stood on the helipad of the Watchpoint. While she hadn’t been stationed at this particular Overwatch base, it shared the same blueprint as every Watchpoint installation. Therefore it was easy to close her eyes and imagine she was in Zurich, that Jack and Gabriel were somewhere within arguing as usual, that Ana was at her side anxiously awaiting her twelve-year-old daughter’s arrival.

Her eyes slowly drifted open as she searched the horizon for the approaching helicopter. Jack and Gabriel were long gone along with Ana; it wasn’t a pre-teen on the incoming flight, but an older, war-scarred soldier. Yet another Captain Amari that Overwatch would no doubt drag down.

Angela gave her head a firm shake to clear her thoughts. It was Fareeha’s choice to be the liaison between Helix and Overwatch. They’d weighed the pros and cons into the early hours of the morning multiple times, both of them falling asleep on the video calls more than once.

To say she was eager for Fareeha to arrive wouldn’t be completely correct. Sure, her heart and body and soul called for the woman, yearned to see, hear, _touch_. And yet…

Admitting to herself that Fareeha was the one meant for her, that _Angela_ was the one for Fareeha, had taken nearly the full eight years since Ana’s funeral. While Angela was finally ready to move on from her childhood love and toward Fareeha with a sheltered yet ready heart, she wasn’t confident in Fareeha’s stance.

During their many video chats, Angela was quick to analyze every tiny movement the soldier made. The way her eyes would fall lazily closed as she laughed, shuttering her deep umber eyes behind even darker lashes. How she would lean forward on folded arms, lips slightly quirked as she drank in every syllable of a silly story Angela was telling. The quick inhale before lips would slam shut as they said their goodbyes.

While Angela felt she knew where Fareeha’s heart lay, she wasn’t so sure of the fact as to openly act on it. Besides, Fareeha was kind, warm, open hearted and as beautiful of mind as she was of body. Would she regret being matched with Angela? Would she eventually insist on parting ways?

Movement on the horizon caught her attention and she let the slowly approaching aircraft crowd out her thoughts.

 

-

 

Angela cursed to herself and any observing deity as she cut away Pharah’s singed and torn flight suit. During all of their time together, all of their late night chats over lukewarm cocoa and sleepless movie marathons in Fareeha’s room, all of Fareeha’s muttered suggestions on Angela’s works in progress, their training, Angela had been careful to keep her hands to herself.

Fareeha had grumbled to Angela over a bit too much alcohol about how every date ended bitterly, even those she hoped were her soulmate, with a cold hand clutching her own. Fareeha had avoided physical contact with Angela with nearly as much diligence as the blonde had.

And yet, here she was, bleeding out on the ground after a near mission failure. Here she was, no time to properly put on gloves, the severe wounds taking precedence over sanitation and her screaming need to not force Fareeha’s discovery of her soulmate.

Angela’s shaking fingers met bloodied skin and Fareeha’s eye cracked open, the other sealed shut with blood from her head wound. “It’s you…” The words were barely a whisper but Angela heard them regardless, even over the shouts of her teammates and the thudding of her own heart. “I’m so… gl—” And Fareeha’s eye slipped closed as she lost consciousness.

The rushing heat through Angela’s limbs went ignored.

 

-

 

The moment Fareeha arrived back at the Watchpoint, Angela had marched to the med bay and transferred the soldier’s medical records to Doctor Walsh, a recent addition now that Overwatch was back and fully in the public eye. The moment she’d handed the woman off to the other, much less compromised, doctor, Angela sprinted to the showers. She quickly rushed through her clean up routine, fingers catching on her flight suit in haste. Her shower was over in record time and as she stood at the mirror drying her face, she worried a bit of pink tinged hair between her fingers.

With a sigh and bitter acceptance that she’d have a bit of blood stained fringe, she turned and dropped her towel into the communal hamper on her way out of the showers.

Her trip back to the medbay was only slowed by Winston, stopping her with a request for debrief which was postponed with a tight smile from the blonde. “I’m sorry, Winston. I’ll write up my statement once I know Fareeha is well.” The scientist nodded his head slightly in agreement and allowed her on her way.

By the time she stepped into the private room Doctor Walsh pointed her toward, Fareeha had already been sutured, cleaned and bandaged. Her dark lashes lay against ashen skin, testament to her blood loss.

Angela moved to her bedside and pulled the wheeled examination stool closer. She sat, eyes never leaving Fareeha’s slack features. She reached out a trembling hand but stopped just before her fingertips grazed Fareeha’s scuffed knuckles. Instead, her fingers dug into the rough weave of the medbay blanket as a sob escaped.

Fareeha’s eyebrows tightened briefly at the sound as her face turned slowly toward Angela. She was weakly smiling before she even opened her eyes. Half-lidded umber met tear filled blue. “Don’t cry, ya hayati.” Her voice was weak and gravelly, but Fareeha pressed on after a firm swallow. “I’ll be back on my feet in no time.”  
  
“That’s not-” Angela began, words thick with tears and regret.

Fareeha smiled, hand sluggishly moving to cover Angela’s. They both inhaled as heat, not icy pain, greeted them. “It would have been nice to find out another way. Make a day of it, work up to the big moment… but I don’t regret it.”  
  
Angela laughed bitterly. “And if it had ended with more cold hands?”

Fareeha’s fingers gripped Angela’s tightly, her words turning sluggish as she started to slip into sleep. “Then I would have dealt with cold hands for the rest of my life.”

  



End file.
